Month: February 2016

Not all people’s words are the same.
For some, they are the sounds of a pack, syllables they can
copy together with the illusion of understanding. They are the
articulation of an agreement for those that cannot learn to
write. They are a crippled alphabet that
fits the current declarations of a parasitic Present, plosives
that tomorrow will reek of expired preservatives.

Not all people’s silence is the same.
For some, it is not the product of a decision, it is not the womb
of a process. It is simply and exactly all that they cannot tell,
it is the perfect silence in the absence of inherent noise, in the absence
of a disorder that requires time to turn into a conclusion. For some,
silence is not a choice, it is the natural absence of any
self.

Not all people’s tears are the same
For some, the flow is a natural part of a slippery slope, always and only
from the world towards them, always and only due to a cause that was never
born inside of them. Foreign words, foreign actions, foreign
insatiables: childish tears, always and only for everything that is
happening to them (or not happening to them) but never for all that they
are (or that they are not).

Not all people’s will is the same
For some, it exists only as a goal in conjunction with all others, the
definition in accordance with the place of the term in a pre-made sentence.
Poised searches in their essence, retroreflective orbits around the
core of their value axis. A street fair of patches and ornaments
weaved on the puppet of a self.

Not all people’s destiny is the same.
For some, it is the effortless road towards an immemorial end,
a long line of regretless exchanges of skin for skin, a
succession of nameless memories like a grading list of
exams that matter nought. Painless steps,
always in between and never towards, always until now and never until
there, a lullaby for those kids that get confused when
the music changes.

Not all people are the same.
For some, words are just useful, silence is their natural
accent. For some, tears are the reaction to a
stimulus, the reflex of an insect. For some people,
a goal is the sum of foreign concepts, a homogenization with
the collective zero, and an assimilation with the millionth nothing.
Their fate is to imitate, to reflect, and to be used.

Not all people are the same.
Except for them.
The ones that let you down.